The weatherman said it would be a perfect weekend for our canoe trip down the deceptively named Roaring River. Oh, it was true that there were stretches I'd never attempt to run in any kind of craft, let alone a canoe. But the thirty mile stretch between the Interstate Bridge and the State Highway crossing was an easy paddle. There were three places where it got a bit exciting, but the rest was mild.
My girlfriend and I had been together for seven months. My buddy Tom Banfield and his wife had been married for seven years. I was the best man at their wedding. We do a lot of things together, from camping and hiking to simply grilling steaks in the back yard. I guess you'd say we're best friends. We are all over thirty and past all the self-destructive stuff most people do like drinking themselves sick and experimenting with drugs. You know: "been there, done that". We still drink some and smoke up once in a blue moon, but it isn't a way of life for us.
So I was excited while Becky and I were packing our waterproof duffels and trying not to forget anything essential. I had been making a list for a week but I'd already scratched some stuff off as too heavy or unnecessary. Beck was in charge of the food and drink and I was taking care of the camping gear. Of course we each still had to pare down our clothing needs. It was to be a three day weekend and if things went as planned we'd reach our take out point just in time to pack up and get home in time for a good night's sleep before work the next day.
One reason I had chosen this river is its relative isolation, at least for most of the trip. Once we got a half mile or so from our launch point, it would be surprising if we saw another human being for at least the first day and a half. The course of the river wound through protected forest land and there were no "inholders" -- people who owned land inside the area. There weren't any hiking trails and only a few "approved" (i.e. "public", which to me isn't camping) camp sites. We were actually breaking state law by planning to camp the first night along the river. But we wouldn't have a fire, just pitch our tents and eat cold food and sleep.
The second afternoon would take us back into some sparsely inhabited land. The second night we'd reserved a spot in the Riverbend State Park that the state built there. It would be all right, but I prefer to be alone in the "wilderness", rather than have to put up with strangers and their families.
I'd finished packing the tent and tarps and stuff and moved on to my clothes. I was hoping to talk Beck into stripping down for the first leg of the trip. It's called "canuding" by those who indulge in it. I'd done it a few times and it's great. Becky had never tried it. In fact she is a virgin when it comes to canoeing. Even though we'd been together so long, for some reason we had never used my canoe together.
Tom and Sylvia are old hands at using the paddles. We had gone down rivers and across lakes a few times together. A couple of times we'd even "canuded" together. Beck and I have been to a couple of clothing optional beaches though, so she's no stranger to social nudity. Becky was a little uneasy, though, about being so close to them with all of us nude. She had told me she felt different about it than going to the beach, where we were surrounded by other naked people, but strangers. This was more intimate since it would just be the four of us. "That's what makes it so special," I told her. "If you just relax, you'll enjoy it."
She must have had her ESP working that morning. Just as I was thinking about her, I heard her behind me. "Honey, did you remember to put that new sleeping bag pad in that I bought?" Becky was standing in the bedroom door. We had been up for an hour and she was still in the long tee shirt she'd put on when she got out of bed (all I wore was a pair of sweat pants).
Her reddish brown hair had been hand combed and she was without what little makeup she wore when she was going out. To me she looked good enough to eat. She always looked good to me, but especially when I knew all she had on was that ratty shirt. Her breasts are round and taut. Her waist is healthy and her hips are great for holding on to when we're making love. Her ass is fleshy but not flabby. She's my ideal woman.
"Of course I did, Beck. I wouldn't want your tailbone to get bruised when we make love out in the wild." She grinned.
"Well, I haven't decided about that yet, Billy. With Tom and Sylvia in the next tent I might make too much noise." It was true that my Becky was a noisy lover. When she got really wound up she could let the neighborhood know she was having an orgasm. Hell, even getting there was a lesson in talking dirty, and even that was loud. I love it. It lets me know when I'm doing it right.
"I told you that you don't need to worry about them. I've heard them often enough to make me horny when I didn't have a partner. On one trip to Tahoe with them I even was treated to the sight of Sylvia sucking Tom off in the same tent. She offered me the same treat, but I had already jerked of while I watched."
"That doesn't sound like you. You're always eager enough to wash my molars with your come," she said. She had crossed into the room and was sitting on the bed next to the clothes duffel. I grinned at her and winked.
She tugged at the waistband of my sweats and moved me over to stand in front of her. With one tug, she had my pants around my ankles and my dick in her grasp. Our conversation and the memory of Sylvia's naked body hunched over Tom's and her head bobbing on his length had gotten me almost hard. She pulled me into her mouth and sucked hard. I had my own "penis enlarging pump" in Becky.
I put my hands on her shoulders and let my hips move with her motions. She had me ready to explode in just a few minutes. I groaned and I did, "wash her molars". She swallowed it all and then slurped at me noisily to clean me off. Then she bent forward and pulled my pants up. She stood up, kissed me and gave me a swat on the ass. "Back to packing," she said, and she eluded my effort to keep her there to extend our little interlude.
So I was alone again. I sighed and went back to work. I'd get even on the trip. I reached toward her end of the duffel. As usual, she'd been prepared the night before. Our clothing needs for the weekend were minimal anyway. I'd make sure hers were the "bare" minimum.
We drove down to the take-out point first. Transferring their gear to our Jeep, we left Tom's pickup there all locked up safely. Then we drove back to the Interstate Bridge and unloaded. By 10AM we were on the river. At the start, there was almost no current. It was a good spot to teach Becky the rudiments of canoeing. We paddled around in the wide slow current as she learned about switching sides and getting used to the balancing act one needs in the narrow boats.
I explained that I was sitting in the aft of the boat to help drive us, but mostly to steer. There would be times when I'd need her help with that, but mostly she would just keep pulling us ahead. She was a quick study, just as she is with most things physical. So we struck off downriver. Tom and Sylvia led the way with our boat a comfortable distance behind. We were close enough to make ourselves heard if need be, but separated enough to have private conversations.
We came to the first fast stretch just after two o'clock. The river's width had shrunk to only about forty feet from the quarter mile wide area where we'd put in. Just like reducing the diameter of a pipe, the narrowing was compensated with an increase in the speed of the current. Becky's knuckles were a bit pale on her paddle, but she kept her balance and her eye on what Tom and Sylvia were doing ahead of us. Our boat bucked some for thirty yards as the current was pushed into waves. It was a little like riding a mechanical bull, but not as violent. And of course, the boat didn't whirl around in circles.
We were through it in about ten minutes and things settled down. Becky turned her torso around and gave me a giddy grin. "Can we go back and do that again? That was outrageous!"
"Sorry, Beck," I said, smiling back at her. "But I do think it's time we got more comfortable." I'd been eyeing the banks. Any evidence of habitation and use had been left behind us. On either side were incredibly tall evergreen trees, with some hardwoods in places where the sun could get to them. Our shirts were soaked from the splashing river anyway. If we left them on we'd just get cold. I pointed forward at Tom and Sylvia.
Becky turned around and saw that Tom's broad back was bare, as was Sylvia's more slender one. I had seen them shedding their shorts as well. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the duffels that were strapped in the bottom of the hull. As Becky pulled her own shirt off, I wiggled out of my shorts, being careful not to tip to one side or the other. Becky twisted to put her shirt with mine and her mouth gaped when she saw that I was naked. I grinned and she just shook her head. She peered into the trees, first on one side of the river, then on the other.
She looked at me again and shrugged. She rocked the boat a little more than I had, but I was soon viewing the considerably beautiful sight of her naked ass just a few feet in front of me. Just then, Tom twisted around to check on us. His teeth gleamed in the sun when he saw Becky's round tits staring back. He waved and said something to Sylvia. She gave a "Wahoo!" and saluted the real start of our trip with both arms in the air, her hands in fists. Then she went back to paddling. Becky waved back and just laughed.
.... There is more of this story ...